


Gravity

by thefilmmakerandsongwriter



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilmmakerandsongwriter/pseuds/thefilmmakerandsongwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lost men find each other. Drinking and other activities ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

The bar is like the first-rate dining hall from the Titanic, after it sank to the bottom of the ocean. It sits on what could be mistaken for the main street of the one-traffic light town, but as Enjolras opens the front door he knows it’s as close as he’s getting to comfort tonight. He walks up to the bartender with tired eyes and a smile that is more teeth than kindness, and orders a fifth of vodka. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash, just hands over the entire bottle.   
A couple stools over two men talk, one who wears the uniform and complexion of a miner, and the other a young guy, about Enjolras’ age, who speaks in a low, but animated tone. There’s something about the physicality of the second man; his shoulders are braced against invisible waves, his head of curly black hair is bowed in reverence to whatever topic they are speaking on. Enjolras inches his chair closer. He can hear the voice of the man, and watches how with every word, a little color flies out of his cheeks, and a little more weight is added to the atmosphere. It’s like his gravity is more than a force keeping him down; it fills the entire room, and Enjolras feels compelled towards it, like an insect is drawn to the only source of light.   
“What is there to redeem in people? We have no intrinsic value anymore. Maybe once upon a time humanity was worth a damn,” the man takes a large gulp of beer, “but now all people are made of is greed and aggrandizing self-loathing.”  
“Don’t you think that’s a little pessimistic, Grantaire?” The miner asks flatly.   
“I’m not a pessimist, I’m indifferent. All I’m saying is where are the great men from history now? Where are the Siddhartha Gautamas, or Winston Churchhills, or French revolutionaries? People used to care about something; where did all that go?”  
“You’re stinking drunk,” responds the other man, unimpressed. “It doesn’t do any good thinking that way. Things are the way they are.” He pats Grantaire on the back, and walks off.   
Enjolras hears Grantaire sigh, and can almost see the thought bubble over his head: Nobody understands. Except Enjolras does understand- he feels that same gut wrenching disillusionment every day of his life. He thinks back to how, right when he started college, he naively thought he could change the world. He wanted to be the person who finally comes up with an original thought, but a random stranger in a town where the average life expectancy of its residents is 33 years and the average education stops at 9th grade has put something into words he, with all his schooling could have never said.   
Something propels Enjolras to place his chair directly in Grantaire’s eye line. He sticks his hand out in greeting, and says “I’m Enjolras. I was eavesdropping on your conversation, and I wanted to let you know that….well that I get it. And you said something I’ve been trying to put into words for a long time.”  
Grantaire looks up from his drink into the unwavering gaze of this stranger, who exudes a special kind of commanding air that is given by those with worth and the money to back it up. But there’s something else there too, something lurking behind the surface, a thunderstorm beneath pleasant skies.   
He returns the handshake. “I’m Grantaire. Have a drink on me.”  
The two talk until 4 am. They talk about their favorite kinds of red wine, Merlot for Enjolras and Pinot Noir for Grantiare. They talk about Grantaire’s sister, who he has been working to put through school. They talk about Enjolras’ father, and how he passed away last year, leaving the oldest son to uphold the honor of the family. They talk about everything but the future, and when the bartender announces closing time, they are suddenly faced with a great expanse of uncertainty and possibility.   
“Want to take a walk with me?” Grantaire asks nervously, shrugging on his coat.   
“It would be my pleasure.” Enjolras responds with a genuine smile.  
The early morning air is tinted with alcoholic breath and a winter mountain chill. The sun curls its fingers around the edges of buildings in the distance, a slow burn building from the ground up. Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s boot steps fall into rhythm with each other, and they walk in comfortable silence along the train tracks which lead only God knows where.   
Enjolras is the first to voice it. “I don’t want to stop this. I mean, you’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met, and I know at some point we’ll have to return to our lives-“  
Grantaire cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t. Don’t bring the real world into this. This is ours, and nothing out there,” he gestures towards the treetops, “can taint it.”   
Enjolras reaches out to cup Grantaire’s face with a gloved hand, running his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone, to his rigid jawline.   
“Well?” Grantaire’s breath tickles Enjolras’ ear.  
“Well what?”  
“Are you going to kiss me or not, stupid?”  
Grantaire tastes like berries and booze, and Enjolras savors the feel of his tongue, tracing constellations into the roof of his mouth. Grantaire’s fingers twist in Enjolras’ hair, forcing their faces even closer together. The river stops flowing and the birds stop singing and the factory smoke stops billowing and all Enjolras can feel is Grantaire. They are bookmarked in time, the folded corner of an old book, a sepia-toned photograph. They are endless, and fragile in their eternity.   
When their lips finally break apart, Grantaire breathes into Enjolras’ mouth. “I want to touch you. I want you so deep inside me I never have to think about letting you go.”  
Enjolras makes a nest out of their jackets off to the side of the train tracks. He gently lays Grantaire onto the makeshift bed, whispering encouragement in his ear. Grantaire fumbles hopelessly at his bulky sweater and Enjolras places his calm fingers over his, guiding him out of his clothes. The sight of Grantaire, lying half-naked on the cold ground before him, makes him harder than anything he’s ever seen before. Maintaining eye contact with Grantaire, Enjolras begins kissing every inch of exposed skin he can find, tugging at Grantaire’s hardened nipples with his teeth, mapping the curve of his collarbone with his tongue, eliciting soft keening noises and little “god yeses” as he goes. Enjolras experimentally runs a single finger down the bulging line of Grantaire’s crotch, causing him to moan. In more of a hurry now, Enjolras hastily unbuttons his own jeans, and then Grantaire’s. He begins rocking back and forth against Grantaire, so their cocks slide together, the friction burning brightly. The head of their dicks smear precome against each other, and Grantaire bites his lip to keep from crying out because fuck it feels so good. Grantaire spreads his legs a little wider for Enjolras, canting his hips upward as he does so, needing more sensation. Enjolras picks Grantaire’s hips up even more, and slides two spit-slick fingers into Grantaire, who this time cannot stifle a cry.   
“You’re doing so well,” Enjolras coaxes, crooking his fingers around to rub at Grantaire’s sensitive spot.  
“Ahhhhh god, yes,” Grantaire moans, “Want you to fuck me.”  
Enjolras obliges. His fingers take over Grantaire’s cock, while he thrusts into the puckered hole. Enjolras strokes Grantaire’s cock as he drives into him, and the sensory overload is almost too much. Both men are panting heavily, smearing come everywhere. Enjolras knows he won’t last much longer, and he fists Grantaire’s dick for all he’s worth, until he’s sure they’re both about to climax. They finish together in a series of groans. Enjolras pulls out of Grantaire as smoothly as he can, and both flop against the hard ground, utterly spent.   
Grantaire interlocks his fingers with Enjolras’. His sucks at the soft skin of Enjolras’ neck, and whispers into his skin, “Don’t leave me.”  
“I never will.”


End file.
